Concert Diaries ~ Chapter 28: On the Road Again, Finally

Hello.  My name is Katherine and it's been 258 days since my last Gavin DeGraw concert.  That's a really long stretch for me since discovering this music that virtually changed my life.  I'd been used to averaging nearly a concert a month, having seen him 34 times in 36 months until last July.  July 23, 2015, to be specific.

Other fans seem impressed by that number but live music junkies know that numbers are meaningless; you just go because you have to.  And where you live has a lot to do with it anyway:  I live outside New York.  I can be in Boston, Philadelphia, Manhattan and all points between in a matter of hours.  I can be in upstate New York, farther down South and well into the Midwest within a fun road trip's drive.  I'm lucky geographically.

So when the nearest concert during my "personal Gavin DeGraw drought" was announced for Raleigh, North Carolina, it wasn't much of a decision.  Yes, a closer concert was also announced.  But it wouldn't be until June during graduation week at the school where I work and one does not ask for days off during graduation week.  Then there was one in my birth-town, but a trip to visit family and friends had already been planned for a couple weeks after.  One doesn't drive 12 hours to another country twice in two weeks.  So Raleigh it was.

But this concert was happening relatively soon.  April 8.  And so we, Phyllis and I, set out as planned, at 4 AM.  After a quick coffee stop, we made our way to the New Jersey Turnpike, successfully navigating a pre-dawn detour.  It's pretty well a straight shot from Northern New Jersey to Raleigh, including the beltways around Washington and Richmond.  The only traffic we encountered was the morning rush getting around DC.  It was so easy that the driver (me) could relax a little and enjoy the trip.  The bare early spring of New Jersey gave way to budding maples, cherries and crabapples the further south we went.  Naturalized daffodils along the roadways were waking up to a beautiful sunrise which I could see glowing coral in my rearview mirror.  It was a beautiful ride.  And that includes the completely predictable playlist that we were never without.  Everything Gavin ever recorded plus Train, Andy Grammar, Pete Yorn ... During long rides like this, I sometimes wish my daily commute was longer than my 7 minutes.  It takes three songs to get to work.  Some days,  I need more.

Photo credit: Phyllis

With a couple stops to check my home phone for teachers calling out sick (it was a Friday and while, as a 12-month employee, I do get days off, as the substitute scheduler, I'm always on duty without exception), stops for gas (the first while we were still in Jersey so these Jersey girls would have one less time to stress over pumping) and more coffee (because ... road trip, more coffee), we arrived in Raleigh within about 10 hours or so.  The hotel in downtown Raleigh was lovely and close to our ultimate destination, the Red Hat Amphitheatre.  It was marathon weekend and the hotel was filled with runners and their families.  The concert we'd shortly be attending was a part of the Marathon festivities.

I needed lunch and a little something to celebrate our arrival so we found the restaurant, a really warm and welcoming spot called Jimmy V's Osteria + Bar, named for basketball coach Jimmy Valvano.  A portion of their profits is donated yearly to the cancer foundation that bears his name which I found uniquely impressive for a restaurant.  The flatbread with fontina, fig, pear, proscuito and arugala and a glass of prosecco was just what I needed.  We ran into friends and fan family from Boston to Charlotte all over the hotel.  We know each other from previous shows, social media and as friends of friends (and often, friends of those friends).  It's a big fan family tree with branches all over the globe so meeting up at concerts often takes on the feeling of a family reunion--even when meeting for the first time.

One of our family had come up with the idea of sending a welcome basket of fruit to the venue for our favorite band.  It was such a good idea; those of us on the East Coast had not seen them in quite a while (some much longer than others) and it was so nice to have this opportunity to let them know we were excited for their performance and for their having brought us all together.  We were each in our rooms getting ready when the "thank you" arrive via Twitter and Instagram.  We didn't expect this shout out but were so happy to know that they'd received it.  And, who doesn't like chocolate dipped fruit?  Thanks to @TidewaterTina for making the arrangements for this! And thanks to Michael Baker (Gavin's drummer) for letting us know they'd received the gift.

Our tickets were for General Admission which meant we needed to be at the venue early to land in our coveted front row position.  Consequently, we headed over to the venue around 5 PM even though the doors wouldn't open until 7 and the show wouldn't start until 8.  We had VIP tickets which meant (we were told) early entry (less competition for the front row) and some free drinks.  I don't drink at concerts for a lot of reasons so for me it was all about front row.  We passed the time reminiscing, meeting (for the first time) people we "knew" from various social media platforms and making new friends.  It was several minutes after 7 PM when they finally opened the gates and we made our way to the front.  The ushers motioned us to small tables set aside in a separate section for the VIP guests where we'd be waited on during the show.  It was behind the standing room area next to the stage.  I think they were astounded when we passed on the seating and the drinks.  Who wants to sit at this concert?  Who would pay extra to sit behind the crowd?  We raced by and went straight to the front row.  However, the delay in opening the gate at our VIP entrance meant that the early entry advantage didn't happen.  I wasn't in my favorite spot.  But front row is front row and we all settled in to wait for the opening acts.  Another hour or so to go.

Jason Adamo

As so often happens when I'm out at a Gavin DeGraw concert, the opening acts were really good and I found new music (new-to-me music) to be excited about.  The first band, the Jason Adamo Band, was a local Raleigh favorite.  Jason is a singer/songwriter who's worked in Nashville and he won me over completely.  Before I'd reached home I'd download his recent EP and ordered his album, Transitor.  His full, rich sound with great backing vocals by members of his band and two divine back-up singers was beautiful and his Nashville vibey sensibility, totally up my alley.  I wholeheartedly recommend checking him out wherever you buy music.

Marc Scibilia

The next singer was Marc Scibilia, whom I'd heard of but not yet had the opportunity to listen to.  He brought so much energy to the stage that photographs were all but impossible.  He's currently from Nashville with roots in upstate New York, much like Gavin.  He was also really good and I downloaded some of his music as well.  See links to both Marc and Jason below.

This is one of my favorite by-products of buying tickets to see/hear bands I like:  discovering new or new-to-me music and expanding my music library and experience.  It's how I heard Rachel Platten (at Andy Grammar before she was famous) and Michael Franti (who was huge but I'd not heard of him) and Oh Honey who were, in my opinion, more interesting than the band they opened for.  It's how I discovered the smooth voice of Javier Colon (because I didn't watch The Voice back when he'd won it), Jaida Dreyer, Andrew McMann and so many more. It's amazing to me how music just keeps on giving.

So the first hour plus was wonderful and I knew it could only get better.  The lighting for the show was a bit off.  Only those in the center of the stage were lit and Jason Adamo's band was big so several members played completely in the dark on the right and left.  We were standing on the right side of the stage and I had the feeling that bassist James Cruz and drummer, Mike Baker would be unseen between the sun having gone down and the poor lighting.  I could only hope that Gavin would cover the stage as he usually does and the follow spot would get his band members once in a while.

When he took the stage, I felt every nerve relax.  Nothing in my life has quite the same effect as this man and his music.  Every worry, anxiety, every ache is replaced by pure happiness.  We'd heard he might be under the weather, but you'd never have known.  And even though the temperature had dropped considerably, between the warmth of Gavin's performance and the warmth returned by the crowd, I was completely unaware of how cold it really was.  It was a familiar set list ... something of a combination of his opening set for Shania Twain last year with some selections from the Europe run of last fall and other favorites.  He did cover the stage as I'd known he would and so there were occasional clear sightings of band members.  The sound from the unusually large number of speakers was almost numbing in the front row but I like that.  When the bass and drums can be felt in my chest and the music overtakes every other sound in the crowd, it's like I'm completely one with the music.  I know this is so for other live music fans, no matter the band or genre.  The live music feeling, especially at or near the front, is like no other.

I was secretly hoping for a new song.  It's been well advertised that Gavin is working on a new album and I've been privileged to be at world premier music twice in the past.  But this was not to be the case this time and I'm content to patiently wait for finished product, hopefully some time in the Fall.

I know a lot of people are excited to hear their favorite songs.  But I don't have a favorite.  The magic (or genius) of Gavin's music for me is that every song has a meaning for me.  And I never get tired of any of them.  There's not one that I "skip" when listening at home or in the car.  So as song after song rolls on, I fall deeper and deeper into my cocoon of joy--barely aware of the thousands of people around me.  I take far fewer pictures these days than I used to do.  But I still take some, and by some, I mean quite a lot; but no where near the hundreds that used to be my norm.  I'm much more focused on enjoying the therapy that hearing Gavin perform live affords me.  Because that's what this has come to mean.  I am reset, rebooted, realigned--whatever metaphor works--after hearing Gavin in concert.

The encores and curtain call signal the end.  Gavin uses this opportunity to reintroduce the band and thank his fans and those who were in attendance for the first time.  He's very appreciative of his public support always.

Afterwards, we lingered to speak with friends and take a couple of pictures.  We meandered around a bit before noticing that Gavin had come out to greet the crowd.  As he walked up and down the barrier he gave his full attention to each person he spoke with.  He took pictures with whomever asked and had a mini surprise reunion with a former neighbor from his childhood.  I'm always in awe of his ability to make a person feel like the only one in the area when he's speaking to you even though there are hundreds of people around.  It's a gift I wish I had; I'm working on it.  That ability to give a person your full attention and concentration.  It's truly a gift.  I can hear him saying "Thank you for that," "I appreciate that," and the other phrases he murmurs to people in these crowds.  He hugs some; high fives others.  He is generally this generous with his time until venue management or his tour manager pull him away as was the case on this night.

I had concert afterglow as we walked the chilly two blocks back to the hotel.  The bar was barely open when we got back but we managed to have a round of drinks, a small group of new and old friends.  Then upstairs to reminisce and catch up with some of my first internet friends for a while.  I had a hard time falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning.  There was so much to reflect on and so much adrenaline, but I willed myself to get some rest, knowing the 10-hour drive was coming soon.  Breakfast was leisurely but soon we were back on the road.  With music to propel us north and much to talk about, future concerts to dream about, the drive passed quickly again.  Although we did get hung up on the east side of the DC beltway, I think we navigated our southern road trip rather well.  We're ready for more adventures.  On the road again.  In 139 days.  Not that I'm counting ...


The Jason Adamo Band ~ Raleigh Nights
Marc Scibilia ~ Jericho
Gavin DeGraw ~ Leading Man

Photo by Phyllis.

No Halos for Halos (Marketing the Low Road)

When I think back on commercials that I remember (and isn't that the point ... to remember the ads and hence, probably the products), the ones that stand out are funny ("where's the beef?"), self-deprecating ("I can't believe I ate the whole thing"), or emotional (think Hallmark).  Often, commercials tell a story and most often, they are a reflection of our times.

I've had the following thoughts welling up inside me for a long while but because I've been watching more than the average amount of television during this weekend's East Coast blizzard, I've seen more than the average number of commercials too.  And I'm wondering when taking the lowest road possible began being a popular choice for companies and their marketers.  I haven't done any real research here.  What follows are just my thoughts, impressions ... my opinions.

These are stories that I really hope are not a reflection of our times but at the same time, I'm afraid that they are:

I think the worst offender in my part of the world is the company that markets the little mandarin oranges known as Halo.  If you go to their website, you'll find a tab called videos with most of their commercials all there for the viewing.  They have names like "Tantrum," "Little Pony," and "Duct Tape."  Each of these commercials features a child in the "lead role" doing some things that would have been considered punishable by spending a considerable amount of solo time in a time out spot when my kids were young or possibly a swat on the rear when I was a kid.  Let's look at them.  You can see them here at halosfun.com.

So, in Duct Tape, the mom confesses to her daughter that she gave the last Halo to the girl's baby

Note that the baby still has duct tape on his shirt.

brother.  "That's okay, " she sweetly says.  Mom, clearly relieved at this benign reaction, backs out of the kitchen, shutting the door, where, it is revealed that the daughter has duct taped her baby brother.  Yes, I suppose it's funny ... but call me crazy, putting a toddler at risk and having your mother clearly fear your reaction to what would otherwise be a minor disappointment in life (I mean, little girl go have a banana instead) is nuts.  In what reality is the mom afraid of her little girls' spoiled brat reaction.  Why is she putting up with that?  How did this parent let this happen?  Why has that behavior never been corrected?

Okay ... I'm probably reading 'way too much into this, right?  Let's look at another one.

Little Pony.  That sounds cute, we think.  Little Pony.  In Little Pony, we see a dad waking up in the

morning to find a stuffed animal horse's head (a pretty big one) severed from it's velvety stuffed animal body laying in the bed next to him in an obvious reference to the warning issued in The Godfather.  In the bedroom doorway stands an angry little girl, with an empty box of Halos.  Actually, I don't know of any well-adjusted (read not psychopathic) children who would destroy a beloved stuffed animal nor any kids under the age of ten who would be familiar with a Godfather reference.  Deliberately breaking a toy in my house would have also netted a decent amount of the afore-mentioned time-out time.  And it would have been a while before any new possessions would have landed in the lap of this child.

But what do the parents of these children do?  They reward them with a trip to the grocery store where their carts are loaded up with cartons (in plural) of sweet Halos.  The Little Pony girl stands in the store, grooming what's left of her toy horse with a maniacal expression.  Be afraid people, this kid is big trouble.

My favorite (or I suppose least favorite) bad commercial is actually called Tantrum.  They called it

Tantrum!  In it, a child who is clearly old enough to verbalize his needs using rudimentary vocabulary, is sitting in a grocery cart while his dad is doing the weekly shopping.  They pass the display of Halos in the produce aisle and the little boy launches into a fit of protest.  The dad experiments with pushing the cart ... in front of the display the child is pleased; past the display on either side, the fit ensues. Dad understands what his child is trying to tell him; however,  rather than looking his child in the eyes and gently saying (and by saying, I mean parenting), "This is not how we ask for things in our family," he rewards his spoiled child with cartons of Halos.  This is the commercial I saw numerous times this weekend which caused my thoughts to finally spill onto this page.

I wonder if any of these commercials are award winners.  It wouldn't surprise me if they were.  But what is the message they are really sending?  To me, which will come as no surprise to those still reading here, the message is that some parents today have confused notions about what their role is in  their children's lives.  It is not to walk in fear of their kid's bad behavior and tantrums, thereby placating them with rewards.  It is, instead, to give them the coping skills to face life's little disappointments and hopefully, with enough coping practice, to face life's big disappointments and challenges head-on with perseverance and maturity.  Not having enough mandarin oranges in the house is a little disappointment not a major catastrophe.  We need to learn to deal with it.

In 2014 my least favorite commercial belonged to Famous Footwear.  It's called "Converse Confidence."  It's a back-to-school spot, I think.  In it we see a girl coming through the school's cafeteria.  She's boldly strutting around, telling the lunch lady, "Keep the change" and proceeding to a table with what could only be described as a defiant look.  She sits down with a group of girls, throws her tray on the table with a thud and plops her sparkly Converse-clad feet up on the table, daring the girls to call her out.  They don't.

I wanted Famous Footwear to know that this is not confidence.  So I tweeted them:

The commercial says they are selling confidence.  And I've no doubt that having the right shoes for the right occasion does bolster confidence in a way (I mean, I'm a girl so I get that).  But that's a temporary kind of confidence.  Real confidence means you're able to treat a school cafeteria worker with kindness and respect, not in a disdainful patronizing way.  Real confidence means smiling at your classmates in the cafeteria, not staring them down.  Real confidence is always polite so that rather than tossing your tray on the table, you'd use all your powers of friendly persuasion and ask "Mind if I join you?"  Only people lacking in self-confidence act the way this child does, to mask their insecurities.

However,  Famous Footwear really made up for this one in my book.  In 2015 they produced a commercial called "Family Dinner" in which a family with two dads and two children can be seen sitting down to dinner and depositing all their electronics into a basket so that they can really connect during the meal.  A hundred thumbs up for this one!!

One more ... if you're still with me, I promise it's the last one.  It's from my own cable company,

Optimum.  It looks as though it's taking place in an important government office or the U.N. or some other venue in "officialdom".  A moderator is watching a little girl sign a contract and the camera pulls away as we see her shaking hands with .... her little brother?  It's the big sister/little brother peace treaty.  The camera pans the crowd who have gathered to witness this historic event and we see the mother, beaming at the sight of her kids getting along.  Of course, this turns out to be happening in her imagination as we quickly return to her reality.  She has just installed multi-room DVRs and we can clearly see little brother and big sister watching two televisions in adjacent rooms, taking in their different shows.  A family spread apart by electronics and a lack of effort.  No attempt to teach compromise or taking turns.  You know, basic things best learned at home with gentle coaxing and appropriate modeling from the adult(s) in the home.  No, this mother is so pleased she's come up with this great solution--separation and a higher monthly cable bill for the multi-room DVRs.  

All this was to say that advertisers seem to be deliberately seeking out a lower road to get our attention, appealing to our need for quick fixes for the problems in life.  These are commercials with very long life spans so it appears that this approach is working.  I'm sorry this is the impression of life in the U.S. that some companies want to give the rest of the world.  I'm sorry that this is the commentary we have about family life ... that tantrums are acceptable and arrogance is okay and brothers and sisters needn't try to get along.  It's kind of sad.

However, as stated above, this is merely my opinion.  Your mileage may differ ...

Sara Bareilles - She Used to Be Mine/Waitress

I simply can't recall ever waiting for a Broadway musical to open with as much anticipation as I have for Waitress with music and lyrics by the incomparable Sara Bareilles.  Based on the sweet (but not saccharine) movie of the same name, this show has been several years in the making and sold out in previews last month in Boston.



I hope it's a raging success.  Looking forward to seeing it.  Spring '16.  Can't wait.

Over The Edge

This was a crazy personal challenge--rappelling down the side of a 10-story building.  I'm sure for extreme sports enthusiasts, adrenaline junkies and regular practitioners of rappelling, 10 stories would be considered the "bunny slope."  But for someone who isn't any of the above, who never so much as zipped on a zip line, who loves amusements parks but doesn't ride the rides, it was a big deal.  A really big deal.

So why did I take a big leap 'way out of my comfort zone?  There were just too many reasons not to ...  First and foremost, my Girl Scout Council asked me to.  Well, not just me, of course--hopefully all of our adult members considered it a little.  I'm a real believer in the mission and goals of the Girl Scouts of Northern New Jersey.  I've been volunteering as a leader and in a variety of other positions for about 20 years.  I've learned so much, had so many fabulous opportunities, made so many friends, that when presented with the chance to help raise some money for our programs, it wasn't a hard sell.  I'd love for more girls to get the chance to challenge themselves, make lots of new friends and participate in exciting programs while learning all about themselves.  That's why I did it.

I understood that this rappel in the hands of a professional company that does nothing but travel the country helping non profits raise money in this unique way would be safe and controlled.  I'm not really afraid of heights but I have a healthy respect for edges, cliffs and slopes.  The company, Over the Edge has a great reputation (more about them later).  It was safe; I felt good about it.  That's why I did it.

I was ready for a personal challenge.  For lots of personal reasons.  It came at the right time for me and I was ready.  That's why I did it.

I have a troop of high school girls.  This is my second troop, my first troop having graduated high school in 2009.  So I'm a middle-aged leader of some pretty exceptional young women who are all such interesting individuals and spectacular as a group.  I thought it would be good for them to know that you're never too old to try something new.  That's why I did it.

Too many reasons not to go for it so and so I did.  But first, I had to raise a minimum of $1,000.  Because first and foremost, this was a fundraiser and an ambitious one at that.  But thanks to my family and very generous friends, within a couple of months, my first goal was achieved.  It's not easy for me to ask for money, no matter how good the cause, so fundraising also became a part of my challenge.  I'm so grateful to all the people who took the time to visit my little webpage and donate.  Every donation meant the world to me and I was truly humbled by the number of people who contributed.  It was exciting to watch the total grow.

Saturday morning dawned and I followed the rules getting dressed even though it was hot day:  long pants, long sleeved shirt.  No wall burns, please!  It was a short drive to the office building in Woodland Park where the rappelling and family festival was going on.  I checked in and was whisked away to the staging area where a confident person from Over the Edge got me all suited up with harness and carabiners, helmet, gloves and walkie talkie.  There were multiple check points and the equipment was scrutinized for anything that might be amiss--nothing was; the folks from Over the Edge know what they're doing.

The elevator ride to the roof was too short!  When the doors opened we walked through some of the building's HVAC equipment and out into the brilliant sun with miles of views of the gorgeous rolling hills of northern New Jersey.  It was breathtaking.  I have no pictures of the rooftop and the astounding panorama since we weren't allowed to bring phones or cameras with us.  There were four people working with Adam, the training guy.  I watched them learning how the apparatus works while standing on the roof and then a few feet off the ground, using a ladder.  While chatting with my fellow edgers, I realized I was very early for my assigned time slot.  Without my phone I had no idea if my family and friends had arrived yet so back down I went to wait until it was closer to my time.

Back in the staging area, the first people started arriving off the wall.  They were excited and exhilarated.  There were all types of people.  Some leaders and some Girl Scout supporters, all amazing people with great stories.  One woman spoke of the brain surgery she was to have within a couple of weeks.  I mean, how could I be scared of this adventure after hearing that?  Talk about brave.  Everyone was in the spirit of the day--adventurous, daring, happy to be there.

Soon it was time to head up to the roof again.  I was in a group of four people that Adam trained.  I went last and had the hardest time.  It took me a while to understand that I didn't have to hold my weight up, that the equipment would do that for me.  But Adam was really patient and caring.  He gave me a lot of confidence.  The people ahead of me and the people behind me in line were all making the descent as pairs.  I stood there waiting my turn and realized I'd be alone on that wall.  It occurred to me that I've done a lot of "firsts" by myself these last few years.  But those adventures weren't like this one.  This one was in a league of its own.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

Then it was my turn.  Derek got me all attached to the rope I would travel down as well as a safety rope that was the backup and also prevent me from going too fast.  That wasn't a worry for me.  I was more afraid I'd be the slowest one they'd ever seen.  Getting over the wall that edged the roof proved to be the hardest part of the whole procedure.  I have a little trouble with arthritis and stepping up on the wall backwards just wasn't happening.  My hips would not cooperate with that big step.  So Derek said I would use the "getting in the pool" method.  I sat on the wall and swung my legs over.  He sort of caught me and got me in position, all the while reassuring me that I could do this.  I really wasn't afraid.  The height didn't bother me as I was literally "hanging out" there at the top.  It was more that I was worried I wouldn't remember all the things they'd so briefly taught me, that I wouldn't remember how to unlock the safety apparatus if it locked up, that I was by myself out there.  I kept asking Derek his name.  I'm really bad with names but I wanted to remember him.  Just before I started down, Derek said "You're why I really love my job."  I knew he meant he liked helping people get outside of their own boxes, facing a fear or achieving a goal.  Or, in my case, all of the above.

As I started my descent, another person from the Over the Edge team leaned over [the edge] and said "You're going to encounter some level changes as you go; it's okay."  What?  Well, it turned out the building was exactly straight.  The architecture had pockets for the windows.  Deep pockets.  Even though I wasn't on the "window" route the spaces between the windows, the route that I was traveling, were indented and angled so that each floor had a challenge I hadn't expected.  I'd thought I'd just walk down.  Like spiderman.  But I'd release the gadget (I'm sure there's a fancy rappelling term for that thing) that allowed me to travel down the rope with my feet against the wall and then the wall would disappear and I'd be bouncing around in the air.  I figured out how to grab the ledges with my toes and get stabilized on the wall again.  So there I was releasing myself down the rope, bouncing around my route on the wall and  wondering how the heck I'd gotten myself into this position in the first place.  I could hear people calling my name but little else.  I think someone was giving me instructions through the walkie but I couldn't make them out.  I was wearing a GoPro camera on my helmet but I didn't look around.  It took all my concentration to remember how to do what I was doing and limit my bouncing on the uneven wall.

Eventually I could tell I was getting close to the bottom.  I couldn't see it.  Because I really, really didn't take my eyes off that wall.  But the concrete of the top nine floors turned to brick when I hit the first floor and I soon felt someone holding on to help me find the solid ground again.  I turned around to see my son running over and got a big hug while they unhooked me.  More hugs and some official pictures for the Council and then I went back to the staging area to return the gear.  I was shaking.  I'm not sure why.  I really wasn't scared.  Honestly.  I knew how safe and controlled it was.  I can't say it was physically demanding because the harness did all the work of holding me up.  So it wasn't that.  I guess I was just relieved.  And happy.  A doctor came over and nonchalantly took my pulse, as if I wasn't paying attention.  He urged me to sit down and have some water.  And my friends who work for GSNNJ made sure that I did.  They thought of everything to make sure this was a safe process for everyone.

A bottle of water a cookie and a bagel later, I was feeling better but was still shaking.  I'm not exactly sure when I stopped but it was a while.  I was so grateful that my son and his girlfriend and my best friend were there.  I may have made the trip down the wall by myself but there were people waiting for me when I reached the destination.  And that's always a great feeling after a hard journey.

Everyone has been asking me if I'd do it again.  My initial reaction was a solid no.  It wasn't easy for me ... not the fundraising nor the rappel.  But a lot of worthwhile things aren't easy.  And this was so worthwhile.  I actually think I would do it again.  Now that I understand the engineering behind the gear, now that I trust how the whole thing really works, I'd like to do it again.  I'll look around.  I'll try to relax.  I think I'll enjoy the journey more the next time.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

I want to send massive amounts of thanks to my friends at Girl Scouts of Northern New Jersey for providing yet another opportunity to try something new.  Thank you to the staff from Over the Edge who were phenomenal.  My family and friends who supported the GSNNJ fundraiser and me blew me away.  I can't really properly express how much that meant to me.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

Of Snowballs

See that snow-covered little tree next to the already white arbor?  That's my favorite plant.  That's why it's next to the back gate.  It's my personal welcome home every day and the last thing I see whenever I leave.  It's hard to see in this picture, between the snow, the fence and the trees across the street.  But trust me, it's special.  And what is it, you might be asking.  I'll tell you.

It's Viburnum Macrocephalum.  It's a deciduous shrub (in my area) that can grow to ten feet.  It doesn't mind shade and it blooms in the spring.  The viburnum family is pretty large and I like a lot of them.  I have two others, which I also am terribly fond of, but this one, Macrocephalum, is my favorite.

Common name:  Chinese Snowball.

Chinese because it is a native of China.  Snowball because in the spring, it is covered in bright white 8-inch round clusters of florets.

While out shoveling (yet again) today, I was struck by the humor or perhaps, irony, of my snowball bush up to its midsection in snow.  In a more typical March, I'd soon be noticing that the flower buds, that had already formed last year, beginning to swell, change color from dark to pale green to bright white.  It's stunning in full bloom.  I've actually had people come up to me when I'm out working in the garden to talk about it, admire it, ask for cuttings to take home.  Even though they aren't a suitable cut flower and it kills me to do it, I do share.  It's nice.  Someone knocked on my door once to tell me how much she loved seeing my Snowball in bloom--it reminded her of her grandmother's house.

An aside ... this is one of the benefits of living "downtown" and close to the street ... people interactions and chance conversations.

There was a Snowball in my Mom's garden at our first house in Windsor.  It was in a corner of the perennial borders that outlined our backyard.  Because it's such a large shrub with more of a tree-like shape to it, I remember I used to squeeze in behind it, hiding out (or so I thought) between the branches and the fence.  It was my little hiding spot.  In the spring, when the air is slightly damp and heady with all sorts of fragrances from spring blooms to fresh mulch, there was nowhere else I'd rather be than out in our backyard.  I remember once as my Mom was making her way around the garden doing the constant chores that all gardeners are familiar with, she shook the branches and the Snowball actually "snowed" its flowers down all around and on me.  It was entrancing ... magical.

My grandmother (from whom, I suspect, both my mom and I inherited our gardening genes) had a Snowball also.  She had a really large yard compared to her neighbors' yards and it was filled with roses, hydrangeas, vegetables and two cherry trees.  She also had a real "little house" in her backyard but that's a story for another time.  The snowball was in a side bed and somewhat overshadowed by the large old cherry trees.  Her well-established and carefully tended garden had that effortless look of having been there for ages.  My mom's place has that look too.  And maybe mine will too, one day.  It has pretty good bones.

I know this seemingly never-ending winter will, indeed, actually end one day soon.  And things will turn green again.  I will see the grass that has been hidden since early January.  And my Snowball will bloom along with the other viburnums and azaleas and peonies and daffodils and tulips and irises.  It's just a little hard to picture it today.  But I do have these to help me:

Viburnum Macrocephalum, May 24, 2014

Snowball "snow," June 4, 2014

Rink

For John.

I was a French major in college.  I was also a Music major.  I don't recommend double majoring to anyone; I'm not sure I got really good at either thing.  That's a story for another time ... And I digress.  Again.

One of the classics we read, of course, was Marcel Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu, or In Search of Lost Time.  It's not the easiest book to tackle in English, let alone in French.  I'm pretty sure there were Cliff Notes involved back then.  About the only thing I remember is the iconic passage of the book, that sets the stage for the rest of the storytelling, when the narrator indulges in the simple act of enjoying a madeleine (a cake-like cookie) and tea.  This prompts a flood of memories that unfold in the rest of the book.  Or something like that.  The madeleine was the trigger for a cascade of memories for him.


It was Saturday and I went for a walk in the cold but brilliant afternoon.  It was really a beautiful day and I opted for a slightly longer route than I'd been doing lately.  I headed over to Cedar Lake.  As the road turned toward the water, I could see boys skating behind the houses.  One sat on a dock, donning his skates.  There were nets and hockey sticks.  That was my "madeleine."

I grew up in Canada in a typical post-war subdivision neighborhood of mostly small ranch houses.  They were good times with lots of children and our most immediate neighbors were all families with similarly aged kids.  We grew up together until my family moved to New Jersey.  We played complicated games outside, using our imaginations to act out stories and we had lots of traditional outdoor toys.  We'd jump rope for hours.  There was a cherry tree in our back yard and in the summer, we'd move the jungle gym to beneath it and sit up high and eat enough cherries to spoil our dinners.  And in the winter, we skated.

It would have to snow enough and stay cold enough but if the conditions were right, our parents would bank up the snow in our backyards and use the hose to spray the area.  It took several night of spraying to build up ice thick enough to skate on.  

As I walked along with my thoughts shooting back over the decades, I came upon another space on the ice, cleared for skating.  I would pass by several more on my long walk through the lake.  It occurred to me how easy these parents had it.  The lakes here in town are small.  Many are man-made so not very deep.  They freeze pretty well all the way across.  We threw a fun skating party one New Year's Day when my ex-husband and I lived on one of them, many moons ago, before kids.  When the conditions are right, the ice is smooth and glassy without the need for hoses.

Now I wonder ... how did our parents stand out there, in the freezing cold, many nights in a row tending to those little rinks.  Because after a half a dozen or so kids skate on the little ovals, they'd need to sprayed down again.  No such thing as a backyard Zamboni.  Just dads in boots and hats with the hose in their gloved hands.  I think my mom took a lot of those shifts too and I'm sure it was she who shoveled the lawn into the shape of an ice rink and banked up the sides while my dad was at work.

I walked along, remembering all the fun we had.  I can recall playing "crack the whip" with the strongest skater at the front of the line, pulling the rest of us behind.  He'd take a sudden, sharp turn and we'd all let go and let the force of the turn send us flying across the ice.  There must have been some hockey going on but I can't picture it.  But hockey was played year 'round, ice or no ice, so there must have been.

Our parents took turns hosting these skating evenings.  That way, the ice that wasn't being used could be undergoing the respraying process.  The moms would make pitchers and pitchers of hot chocolate.  They would sit together in conversation, watching us whirl around.  I'm sure we must have been out there on school nights.  You wouldn't know how long the ice would last.  A huge snowfall or a couple warmish days in a row would doom your smooth sheets of  glassiness to pocked and cracked messes that were really impossible to bring back to their former usefulness.   You had to skate while the skating was good.

I bet we were actually not out there all that long--especially if it was a school night.  Our moms bundled us up to the enth degree, laced up our skates tightly, put mittens over mittens and tied our scarves in the back.  Then they'd make the hot chocolate.  It seems in my childhood memories as if we were out under the stars for a long time.  But I bet it was only an hour (or maybe even less).  What a lot of work it must have been for our folks.  

How idyllic were those winters ... Where I lived in southern Ontario, there could be a lot of snow ... or not.  My lakes (Erie and St. Clair) didn't really freeze--maybe in patches along the shoreline.  But those are lakes.  Real lakes.  The Detroit River used to freeze all the way across back when my parents were children.  That was before the river was deepened for the freighters that carry every sort of cargo you can imagine from Lake Superior all the way out through the St. Lawrence River.  I remember skating to school on one day after it rained and froze over the snow.  We skated there in the morning but walked home for lunch after the sun warmed up the lawns.  

There was no such thing as a "snow day."  We went to school in every kind of weather.  One year, there was so much snow on the roof of the gym that it collapsed under the weight.  No one was in it at the time, thank goodness.  But no one closed the school either.  We didn't have gym class while we waited for the repairs to be made.  We just went along with whatever the weather dealt us.

All these thoughts came rushing up from some deep well as I walked along under the brilliant blue sky.  How lucky we were ... simpler times with simple pleasures that our parents made happen.  We were blissfully secure in our neighborhood of families who were up for hours of frozen fun in the winter and porch sitting and catching fire flies in the summer.  Talk about being privileged.  It was pretty close to perfect.

The ice.  Those rinks.  Madeleines. 

O.P.

O.P.  On Program.

That what they called it when I attended Weight Watchers meetings during this slow journey (with ever so many detours) back to healthy living.  On Program.  Working the Program.  In other words, following the guidelines, journaling your food and exercise, making good decisions and being accountable for what you eat.

 O.P.

It also mean Off Program.

So essentially I've been O.P. or  O.P. for about 10 years, I think.  I lost 40 pounds the first go 'round on program.  I can't recall now what caused me to go off program but in the ensuing 5 years or so I'd go back On and Off and lose a few, gain a lot.  Classic.  Then I put myself in the care of a bariatric doctor but that involved shakes twice a day which didn't work for me at all--I need real food--plus she was quite ... well, mean.  Eventually I went back to WW but when my preferred meeting shut down and I'd heard everything they teach for the third time, I switched over to the electronic version where I've been either O.P. or O.P. for the last five years.  And yes, you still pay even when you don't attend meetings.  You're still getting the program.

In 2014 I struggled to stay on program.  Having been within 7 pounds of my goal (read: having lost over 100 pounds), a variety of circumstances (read: excuses) caused me to gain about half of that back, most in the last six months.  You see, intellectually I know how to work the program to stay on program and I'm really, really good at it when I'm on.  But when I'm off, I revert to the excuse-making, fast food junkie that let herself go in the first, second and third places.

It's hard to stay On Program.  I'm pretty busy ... cooking for one isn't always fun ... a bunch of arthritis crept in my joints, seemingly overnight, making exercise shaky.  Then there's stress.  I'm one of those people who can revert to "eating" or "feeding" the stress in a nano second.   I understand all my triggers; I know how I feel when living O.P., either way:  sluggish, depressed, temporarily fed or energetic, light-hearted and fully fed.  And both are choices.

The key is choosing.

And so, like many of you, this new year month of January, I'm choosing to live On Program again.  And, as I've experienced before, it's already working.  I'm as determined or more as I've ever been.  I wish I knew for sure whether I'm going to be able to go all the way this time.  I don't.  Just as with other addictions, the only thing I can do is take each day, one at a time.  But if I keep that in mind, that the only thing I have to do each day is stay On Program for that day or that meal, it seems doable.  Measurable goals.  Small steps.  Realizing that this continual struggle of my adulthood is likely to be life-long feels insurmountable; but recognizing that I don't have to deal with anything other than the day (or meal) before me makes the struggle somehow, not easier really, but less scary.

So, if, like me, you're resolving to get be your best self this year, I wish all success for you; be gentle with yourself and realize that every subsequent choice is a chance to get it right, whatever that means for you.  We've got this.  One day, one meal, at a time.

~~~

My go-to On Program playlist (because I couldn't do this without music):

Gavin DeGraw - Everything Will Change
Sara Bareilles - Brave
NKOTB - Remix (I Like The) ... don't judge me ... she owns it in this video and I love that.
Andry Grammer - Lunatic

Weight Watchers.  Your own real food, not out of a box or packet.  Check eTools here.